Yellow
by adVENTitiious
Summary: Because Sirius is black, or red possibly, and Remus is yellow. Two-shot. Gift fic. -SB/RL.


**Yellow**

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><p><span>Author's Note<span>: This is a two-shot birthday gift fic for the ridiculously talented and hilarious and über squishy _**Michy Drarry Shipper**_. Yes—a two-shot—because it is necessary. Hehe. Happy super late birthday my wonderful Michy! Together you and I make beautiful platonic Starbucks music. Ahahaha!

I had prompts. I used some. I tried to use more. And the style? Don't ask. The song lyrics at the start are from Coldplay's _Yellow_. It was not a prompt. Hmm...

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><p><em>Look at the stars,<em>

_Look how they shine for you,_

_And everything you do._

Yellow. Yellow thread.

Sirius pulled at the heavy stitching that had started to become undone at the waist of his black hoodie he was wearing. He hated expensive clothing. If he had been wearing a cheaper black hoodie, the stitching would probably be black, it would blend in. But instead he was wearing a black sweatshirt with yellow threading that was coming loose, and it looked like shit, because it was so damn noticeable, almost glowing it was so bright. Yes, Sirius hated expensive clothing. But mostly he hated the color yellow.

Because Remus was yellow. Yellow wasn't like red or black, colors Sirius would probably be if he were a color. Black was more of a shade though if he had to call it. No, yellow was the color of the sun, and flowers, and the hue to the edges of the pages of Remus's favorite books, that were so old they had begun to have a different scent, like some of the texts in the library at Hogwarts, the ones in the muggle history section where the author didn't want the preservation spell put on them in some type of 'life mimics art mimics life' bullshit. They smelled sweet.

And yellow was the color Remus had magicked the text on Sirius's favorite magazine in fifth year when they had been the only ones to stay for Christmas break, because he had complained for over an hour solid after dinner time that black was too boring and depressing when he had been in one of his moods, because the holidays had that effect on him. And the magicked font had been too light and an eyesore to read, and he hadn't known how to change it back and that should have pissed him off greatly, but it had made Sirius laugh because he hadn't thought Remus had it in him to charm a written work, even if it was just a magazine on Quidditch. He had kissed him after that, with his tongue and hands that had pulled them closer, as close as they could manage, because if Remus could do something to surprise Sirius so completely, then Sirius could surprise him back. It was only fair. Sirius breathed out slowly. Remus had definitely been surprised. It had been their first kiss. And that was why he hated yellow. Because yellow hated him.

He supposed he could buy a new one, throw this one out. He had the money. One that had red or grey threading maybe, because blending in was a little depressing if he was being completely honest. He wrapped the thread around his pointer and middle finger slowly, he was in no hurry. Grey eyes hardened, mimicking the object they most resembled, what his heart must be made of. He didn't know rocks could pulse. He felt nothing as he watched the too sturdy threads tighten around his fingers, the tips darkening slowly as blood flow ceased to transfer between his hand and the two outermost digits. Suffocating. He had heard it was painful. He wanted to feel something again, it hadn't been long, it had only been two days, but it was the longest two days he had ever endured. He pulled harder, but the string held strong, its high thread count besting him.

"Sirius, your father wants to see you now."

Sirius stopped, the thread slowly loosening as he looked up to see his mother, Walburga Black, her expression glazed as she held what was probably not her first drink of the day at only two in the evening, her freshly manicured nails a deep blood red.

"Did you hear me? He's _waiting_ in his study."

He felt himself nod woodenly at the curtly delivered words, and his feet and legs did the hard work and pushed him up off his bed. He wasn't worried this time, like he had been before. Whatever the punishment he was given, he would welcome it with open arms. Because that's what you did when you truly deserved something, right?

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><p>"Do you want to shag?"<p>

Hazel eyes slowly shifted from their focus on the book before them to land on a lop-sided grin. A sixteen-year-old Remus remained on his stomach, sprawled on his bed, his long legs criss-cross in the air behind him as a book of Eastern shorts lay open before him. "I'm sorry?"

Sirius held the grin. "Shag, Remus, do you want to shag?" he said, enunciating the question to remove any doubt. It had been two months since they had first kissed. Well, since they had kissed, first would imply there had been another, and there hadn't, much to Sirius's regret. Remus had avoided his private company like the plague after their snog - and it had been a proper snog - because there had been groping, on both sides Sirius had assumed at first. And he could only get so close to the werewolf's lips with his playful kisses in front of James before his best friend started shooting him odd looks - wary looks, one might even say - and asking if he needed to tell him something in that voice he saved for when Sirius was acting more off than usual. An inch to be exact. If he approached the one-inch-mark of Remus's soft lips from any direction (he had checked), he would be in the wary-gaze-zone. And to be honest, Sirius wasn't sure he wanted to see what lay beyond the wary-gaze-zone, especially if Remus wasn't there too. It could prove a very lonely place to be.

Bluish green eyes with little flecks of gold blinked and then blinked again. "Are you propositioning me, Padfoot?"

Sirius let out a bark of a laugh. "_Moony_. You have no faith in me." He shook his head, the expression he was wearing one might think a first-year had just asked him if he were a prefect, except the head movement was off, by about ninety degrees. First-years were surprisingly trusting of prefects—Sirius and James had found that out with no small amount of glee after their seemingly synchronized growth spurts at the beginning of third year—and incredibly thick to boot. One could send them off just about anywhere in the castle or even straight into the Whomping Willow's welcoming branches, and they would march on dutifully because a prefect had told them it was the way to the infirmary. Which it was, in a roundabout way.

"But you are..."

"Are what?"

"Propositioning me. You're propositioning me."

Sirius stepped forward. This was his chance; he hadn't said no yet or hexed him or run away screaming like he had anticipated. "What if I was? Would you want to?" he asked, all traces of the winning smile gone suddenly from his expression as he stared a little too intently into eyes that he dreamed of at night. "Would you want to shag, Remus?" he asked again, quietly, scared he'd say no. If he was a witch, he'd say yes, assuming Sirius's past experiences were any indicator that is, but he wasn't. Remus was not a witch, which he actually quite preferred except for in this specific instance. He really should have come up with a better plan. Next time he'd ask Peter instead of James. The bloody bastard hadn't even gotten Evans to let him speak her name in her presence without hexing him. He felt his chest begin to tighten as the silence dragged on.

"You know what. Nevermind," he said with a feigned cheerful laugh as if he had suddenly changed his mind, as if it had been only a passing whim and it had _just_ coincidentally passed - and not the words that had gotten stuck somewhere between his throat and tongue for the past two bloody months every time he had been in Remus's presence. He turned around, walking out of the dorm quickly with nowhere to go. He sat down once he had reached the third step from the bottom of the spiral staircase and rested his face in his hands, shoeless. That had gone horribly.

"Sirius?"

Grey eyes popped open, and Sirius turned his head slowly - afraid that his mind was playing tricks on him like it was sometimes ought to do. He met nervous hazel eyes. "Yeah Remus?"

Remus nodded. "I would actually." He shifted uncomfortably. "I mean, you mean more than once though, right?"

Sirius's mouth dropped open, and he let out a laugh.

"I mean. Not a one-night stand, right?"

Sirius stood up, bounding up the stairs to pull Remus against his chest. "No, not just once."

Remus smiled up at him, and he grinned down at him.

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><p>He had considered that their first day as a couple.<p>

Maybe he hated firsts more than he hated yellow. Because he and Remus had a lot of firsts, but none of them would be lasts.

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><p>"Is this... is this all right?" Sirius asked, his words hard to get out as he breathed heavily, his hips shifting as he moved over the body below him. "Is this all right?"<p>

Remus bit down on his lip, his eyes clenched tight. "Yeah, it. It hurts though, a little."

Sirius dipped his head down and placed a gentle kiss on parted lips. "I'm sorry," he said, slowing his movement to almost a full stop, and then his entire body decided to take a poll right there - unanimous in the fact that it hated him - his cock the ringleader. But his cock could go to hell, because he only cared about Remus. Well, maybe not hell, because then he couldn't shift his hips a little, angling them towards the Gryffindor stone ceiling above Remus's bed and elicit that moan from his lips that told Sirius maybe it was hurting a little less now, and that he could speed up a little, so he wouldn't faint from all the extra oxygen soaking his bloodstream as he gasped for air at almost a stand-still.

"Sirius," Remus whispered, his words so raw, they almost didn't sound like a word, but a message instead, a secret message meant only for him. "Sirius..."

He kissed him again, quieting him, silky raven locks falling into his eyes, concealing the emotion in them and brushing Remus's cheek as he continued to move over him slowly. "Best one-night stand ever," he said, smiling when Remus laughed. He would swear he was in love, if he and Remus had been a couple for more than two weeks, and if he knew how it actually felt. But he didn't, so he kissed him again, his hand trailing down his scar-kissed torso, using his body to tell him what he couldn't. That if he didn't, he wanted to more than anything.

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><p><em>I'm just glad you weren't suspended.<em>

Sirius laughed as he walked out of his father's study. Not suspended. No, he hadn't been, had he? And why not? He had tried to kill someone, he had wanted to, more than he could remember wanting anything. More than Remus obviously. Because hatred wasn't a stronger emotion than say, love, at least he hoped not, but it _was_ consuming in nature, and it wreaked absolute havoc on one's brain, particularly the decision-making part. At least in Sirius's experience.

And he still hated Snape, maybe more so, he hated the way he made James miserable because he had somehow made friends with Lily Evans, but the infuriating witch wouldn't give his best friend—one of the best people Sirius had ever known and would ever know he was sure—a passing glance. He hated how he touted hateful ideas and words like that of a stuffy pureblood, where there was no question of his half-blood lineage. He hated how he was always trying to get him and James into trouble and ruining their fun. He hated how he had scared Peter and made the most skittish of the marauders refuse to partake in any of their pranks on him by fourth year, but how, Sirius couldn't figure it.

But most of all, _most of all by far,_ he hated how he was always watching Remus. No one should watch Remus as closely as he did. Because Remus had secrets, dangerous ones, ones that could hurt Remus most of all, and Sirius needed him to be safe. Because he needed Remus.

The same Remus, who would have been held responsible if he had actually succeeded in his attempt. He covered his face with his hands and found himself leaning back on the wall in the dark hallway, his legs beginning to shake, and his shoulders following suit as he began to laugh. He was the worst friend ever, it had to be the truth or at least close to it. He had always known he was an awful boyfriend, but had prided himself in being a good friend, but not anymore. He was losing it but not in a fun way, for real this time.

He was losing it, and he didn't know how to find it again.


End file.
